


No Regrets

by Mireille



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-24
Updated: 2009-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-21 19:52:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13748079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mireille/pseuds/Mireille
Summary: Xander decides it's time for things to go further.





	No Regrets

Xander is shivering, and his clothes are clammy and cold against his skin, but that's not important right now; nothing matters except that Giles is safely inside the apartment, and Xander has locked the door behind them. Now that they're in better light and it's not pouring rain on them--stupid weather-controlling demons--he can see that the blood soaking through Giles' T-shirt and sweater is from nothing worse than a scratch. It's long and deep, and they'd better clean it up before it gets infected, but it looks like it'll heal without stitches, which is better than what Xander's been imagining the whole way back to Giles' place from the cemetery.   
  
"Go upstairs and get into something dry," Xander says, pushing Giles gently toward the stairs. "I'll call Buffy and let her know we got back okay, and then I'll be up with the first-aid kit." It worries him a little that Giles doesn't argue with him, but then again, if Xander had warm, dry clothes upstairs, he wouldn't be arguing about changing into them, either.   
  
Buffy hasn't made it back to her dorm room yet, so Xander leaves a message on her answering machine and grabs the first-aid box before following Giles. He stops at the head of the stairs, turning his head for a second before he remembers that this is okay, that whatever it is he and Giles have been circling around for the last couple of months gives him the right to look at Giles with his shirt off without apologizing for it.   
  
And anyway, it's just his shirt: Giles is wearing a pair of faded gray sweatpants, a soft blue shirt tossed on the bed next to him. He's seen Giles without a shirt before, usually in situations like this, when Giles was waiting for him to get out the Bactine and the Band-Aids.   
  
But that had been School Giles, and even if he'd had his shirt off, he'd been wearing tweed pants and socks and shoes, and there was usually a jacket and a tie hanging over the nearest chair. This is Maybe-Boyfriend-But-It's-Not-Like-They've- _Talked_ -About-It Giles, and he's wearing sweats, his bare feet dangling over the edge of the bed, just brushing the floor. Xander hasn't ever thought of naked feet as being sexy before--or, come to think of it, of bare feet as being  _naked_.   
  
Xander swallows hard. "Um," he says. "First aid?"   
  
"You're dripping on the floor," Giles says, smiling. "Do you want to change first?"   
  
Xander shakes his head. "Into what?" Then, as Giles points, he realizes there's a second pile of clothes on the bed: another pair of sweats and a white T-shirt.   
  
"Don't look," he says, feeling kind of stupid as soon as the words are out. He's just been telling himself that he has the right to look at Giles; what's he thinking telling Giles not to look? But Giles closes his eyes, and Xander hopes that doesn't mean that Giles doesn't  _want_  to sneak a peek at what Xander looks like with his clothes off.   
  
Xander turns his back, strips off, pulls on the sweats and the shirt that both come close enough to fitting that he won't complain, and decides that the best place to drop his wet clothes is on top of the hamper where Giles' own clothes are lying. "Okay," he says, "I'm decent." He's not sure if he wants Giles to have opened his eyes or not, but he figures if he doesn't ask, he never has to decide. He turns back to Giles, joining him on the bed and opening the plastic box that holds Giles' first-aid supplies.   
  
Nothing that happens afterward is Giles' fault, Xander tells himself, just in case there's a time--maybe tomorrow morning, once Giles has had some sleep and is thinking clearly--when there's some blame to be handed out. Giles just sits there, trying to hold still while Xander cleans the scratch; he sucks in a sharp breath when Xander swabs his chest with alcohol, but otherwise, he's silent until Xander finishes the job with a kind of messy application of gauze pads and adhesive tape.   
  
When Xander drops the tape on the bed and runs his finger over Giles' chest, tracing a whorl of hair, Giles is  _still_  silent, and that's not all that comforting until he glances up and realizes that Giles is watching him, and even someone like him, who occasionally veers into the Dumbass Zone, can't misinterpret the look on Giles' face. "This is okay?" he asks, even though he thinks he knows the answer already.   
  
"Yes," Giles breathes, and he leans down to kiss Xander's forehead, gently. "This is fine."   
  
Xander's fingers brush the edge of the gauze, and suddenly he wonders what the hell he's been waiting for, why it took him weeks to work up to kissing Giles, why all their touching so far has been above the waist and through layers of clothes. He knows why Giles has gone along with it--because he's willing to admit that everything Giles knows about him points to "Xander's going to wig."   
  
The thing is, Xander's not going to wig, because this is the first time in his life that he's wanted someone and  _not_  had the sense that he was making a horrible mistake. But Giles has no way of knowing that, so Xander gets why he's prepared for impending freak-out.   
  
What he can't figure out is what the hell he's been doing, because what if this hadn't been just a scratch? What if, instead of running his hand over Giles' chest, he was downstairs, trying to keep pressure on Giles' wound, watching him bleed to death and waiting for the ambulance to come? What if he'd lost Giles  _tonight_ , while he was waiting for the perfect time for them to take things further?   
  
 _Fuck that_.   
  
Xander explores Giles' chest more; he likes it, he decides; it and Giles' stomach, too. They're  _real_ \--and Xander isn't a hundred percent sure what he means by that, exactly; it's just that... well. He can be surprisingly computer-literate when there's pictures of naked people to be had, and Giles is  _nothing_ like that. Giles has chest hair--not a smooth-waxed chest, and not enough hair to practically count as fur, either; just normal chest hair, dark brown mixed with gray. Maybe gray hair isn't supposed to be hot, but Xander likes it, on Giles, at least. There's some hair on Giles' stomach, too, a line leading down beneath the sweats, and Xander knows that before too much longer, he's going to follow it all the way down, find out where it leads. He's an explorer, he thinks; just call him Cortes or Magellan or somebody else whose name got stuck in his head in fifth grade.   
  
There are scars on Giles' chest, too, and on his stomach; Xander is surprised to realize that he can make a guess at where Giles got most of them. "That vampire behind the Shop 'n' Save?" he says, touching a pinkish line below Giles' right nipple, and Giles nods. That starts Xander on a quest, identifying all the scars he can, asking Giles when he doesn't know what happened. Turns out Giles didn't have a lot of scars before he got to Sunnydale, except for one on his side, faded white with age. When Xander traces it with his fingers, Giles chuckles.   
  
"My appendix," he says. "I was five, I believe."   
  
That's just so normal, so un-Sunnydale, that Xander laughs, too, and raises his head so that he can kiss Giles: softly at first, and then more demandingly when it becomes obvious that Giles is in no mood to be treated like he might break.   
  
Xander slides his hand down Giles' stomach, stopping just before he reaches the sweats. "Can I?" he says, his mouth still just a fraction of an inch away from Giles'. He can see the outline of Giles' dick under the fleece, already half-hard, and it suddenly hits him that it's because of him, what he's been doing, the thought of doing more. Giles wants him--and Xander knew that already, from the way Giles would groan and push Xander away from him on the couch "before we do something one of us would regret"--but this is really  _knowing_  it.   
  
"You may," Giles says, and Xander grins, because only Giles would correct his grammar during what, if he's not totally mistaken, is about to become sex. Giles grins back, and Xander gets the feeling he did it on purpose, just to see if he could make Xander smile. He really likes that feeling, so he kisses Giles' grin, and then he's yanking Giles' sweatpants down, Giles lifting his hips up enough that he can pull them partway down Giles' thighs, and there's nothing underneath them but Giles himself.  
  
Not that that's a problem for Xander, because right now, if you ask him, he's going to tell you there's nothing in the world he's ever wanted more than to wrap his hand around Giles' dick. It's probably not true--there was a time in 1987 when he probably would have killed for a bike that wasn't purple and wasn't a  _girl's_  bike--but it feels like it, right now. He strokes Giles, slow and easy, feeling Giles' dick get harder in his hand.   
  
When he was waiting for the "right time," he'd been planning to impress Giles, to show Giles that he knows how to take things slowly, to prove that he's not just some dumb kid who just wants to get off. And he does want to do that--one day. Just not tonight. Tonight, he thinks, grinning again, he wants to do this fast and messy and dirty, because he's alive and Giles is alive and fuck, that's kind of amazing, when you think about it.   
  
He takes his hand away for a second, just long enough that he can lick a stripe down his palm, leaving it slick and shiny. When he reaches for Giles' dick again, his hand moves more easily, and Giles groans as Xander strokes him faster. Xander grins up at him, and Giles leans in to kiss Xander again, his tongue slipping past Xander's lips and his hand coming to rest on the back of Xander's neck. When they finally separate, they're both breathing hard, and Xander's mouth feels kind of bruised.   
  
"Just a moment," Giles says, and takes off his glasses. He winces when he stretches to put them on the nightstand, and Xander snorts.   
  
"I could have done that for you, you know," he says. Without the glasses, Giles' eyes are very green, and the way he's looking at Xander is kind of...hungry. It's distracting enough that whatever Giles says in reply is totally lost. Xander figures it's probably not that important, anyway, since Giles kisses him again.   
  
This time, after the kiss ends, Giles drops his hand down to cover Xander's, encouraging him to tighten his grip and guiding his strokes. "That's good, Xander," he murmurs, his voice warm and rough; Xander almost thinks he can feel the words against his skin.   
  
"Yeah?" Xander says, his hand moving faster. "How about this?" he asks, shifting his weight so that he can get his other hand between Giles' legs, playing with his balls. From the way Giles' hips buck, his dick pushing into Xander's hand, Xander's sure that he's doing pretty good at this, overall. He always knew he'd figure out what he was good at, one of these days. He hadn't expected it to be getting Giles off, but as talents go, it's not such a bad one.   
  
Xander's hand is moving fast; he looks up at Giles' face and grins. Giles' eyes are closed, his head tilted back; he's smiling, or at least until he moves his shoulder again and grimaces. "Hold  _still_ ," Xander mutters. "If you keep hurting yourself, I'm going to stop this, and I don't think either of us really wants that."  
  
"Just a... a moment," Giles says, his breathing harsh. Xander stills his hand, and Giles lies back on the bed. Xander nods in approval; he won't have to use his injured arm for balance if he's lying flat.   
  
"That works," he says, and goes back to jerking Giles off. His own dick is hard, aching; there's a damp spot on the front of his borrowed sweatpants, and he shifts his hips, trying to get more comfortable. At least, as comfortable as he can get until he's done with this and can touch himself; he doesn't want to take either hand away, not when Giles is enjoying this so much.   
  
Beads of liquid are forming at the tip of Giles' dick, and Xander leans down, poking his tongue out to lap hesitantly at it. He's not ready to go any further, not now; he wants to do this, but later. Right now, he just wants to taste, and to hear the low, needy way that Giles groans as Xander licks him.  
  
"Next time," Xander promises as he pulls away.   
  
"I may hold you to that," Giles says, and Xander grins again. Giles didn't argue with him about the "next time" part. There's going to be a next time. And maybe a time after that, and a time after that, and Xander wonders if Giles knew that this isn't just about Xander's--definitely real and significant--desire to get his hands on Giles' dick. He must have, Xander decides finally, because otherwise, they would have done this weeks ago. Maybe months ago.   
  
But that's not important, because they didn't do this weeks ago, they're doing it  _now_ , and Giles is struggling to keep his back from arching--maybe remembering Xander's threat to stop if he keeps moving around and hurting his shoulder--as he pushes up into Xander's hand, fast and hard and--oh, God, and hot and messy on Xander's hand as Giles comes, and Xander grins like he's just done something amazing.   
  
He  _has_  just done something amazing, he thinks, and now he can shove his hands in his pants, pushing them down until the elastic waist fits snugly under his balls, and Xander's biting his lip as he jerks himself off: roughly, the way he used to do it back in high school, when Giles had been especially stern-Watcher-slash-librarian all day, and Xander would have to wait until he got home after school and locked his bedroom door before he could do anything about the hard-on that had been driving him crazy all day.   
  
Giles reaches for him, but Xander reaches out and pushes the hand away, shaking his head. "Just--" Xander begins, then swallows hard, because he feels stupid saying this, like he's trying to sound like a porn actor or something. "Just watch, okay?" he says, and it's weird, but the doubt in his voice at the end makes him feel better about this, more like himself. "I don't want your shoulder to start bleeding again."   
  
It's a good excuse, anyway, even if the truth is that he just wants Giles to look at him some more. Giles' eyes are bright, focused on the movement of Xander's hand on his dick, and Giles licks his lips--unconsciously, Xander thinks, and that's hot, just like the way Giles is watching him is hot, just like every fucking thing  _about_  Giles is hot right now.   
  
He's not going to last long, he knows, especially not when he thinks about the fact that Giles' come is still on his hands, is smeared on his dick and his thighs now, as well as Giles' stomach. He thinks about bending down, when he's done, and licking Giles' stomach clean, his own come mixed with Giles' on his tongue, and that's it, he's coming, feeling like he's being turned inside out; and the whole time, he can feel Giles' eyes on him, watching him,  _wanting_  him.  
  
He dimly remembers he was making plans for "afterwards," but all he can do, once his dick stops twitching in his hand, is slide down onto the bed, sprawling with his head on Giles' chest.  
  
He stays like that for a few minutes, because Giles' hand comes to rest in his hair, and he thinks he could go to sleep like that--at least, until the come drying on his skin starts to feel gross. He slides off the bed then, stripping off his borrowed clothes and using the mostly-clean shirt to wipe himself and Giles off as best he can. Giles' eyes are still open, and he smiles as he watches Xander, a soft, fond smile that Xander's started getting used to seeing, the past couple of months. It's a good smile to get used to.   
  
"You're going to want a shower in the morning," Xander says, dropping the shirt on the floor and settling himself on the bed, "and then you're going to need somebody to put a new bandage on your shoulder. I think I should stay here; I don't want to have to come back. I bet you wake up way too early for a Saturday."   
  
"If you wanted to spend the night," Giles says, "all you had to do was ask."   
  
"Too easy," Xander says, and he finds that comfortable spot on Giles' chest again, the one that's rapidly becoming his favorite pillow ever.   
  
Giles chuckles, and Xander turns his head to smile up at him. He remembers thinking that they might be sorry about this tomorrow. They still might be, he guesses, but somehow, he doubts it.

**Author's Note:**

> [me on tumblr](https://mireille719.tumblr.com)


End file.
